The Mudblood and Her Misconceptions
by buttercupbella
Summary: A series of stories concerning the times when Hogwarts' most brilliant student doesn't have a clue about a certain crimson-eyed boy.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **It's the first time that Hogwarts' most brilliant student doesn't have a clue about a certain crimson-eyed boy.

**Character: **Hermione Granger

**|Author's Note| **Hello. This is my first shot at a Crossover and...all I can say is it's different.

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**1. Crimson**

The Great Hall becomes alive once the large double doors open to the sight of thousands of floating candles over four banquet tables. You confidently trudge to the wide spot in front of the whole student body, ignoring the little witches and wizards' pitiful (or maybe just disgusted) stares at your bushy mane. They have no business regarding your hairstyle, for you are, after all, a wonderful witch yourself.

_Or perhaps they don't notice you at all. _As much as you want to be recognized, you stay put, observing each and every one of the first years who noisily surround you with their chitchats of magic. They do not know anything yet - not a thing about wands, spells, and history. The only thing that comes to their minds is _Quidditch. _You don't understand. That game is simply a matter of launching flying balls into large metal rings, whereas Charms is leagues above the stupid child's play that doesn't, in any way, help you in the real world.

You don't realize that you say your thoughts out loud, and the first years tell you that you're no fun. That maybe you suck at flying, and that's the sole reason you hate Quidditch.

You huff and turn away from the insolent children and decide that it is no use arguing with people who do not match your mindset. Instead, you listen as the black worn-out hat, sitting primly on the stool, sing his own introduction. The Sorting Ceremony certainly is exciting, given the fact that you have the best chances of getting into the most laudable House - in your case, it is Gryffindor.

Soon enough, you hear a woman with captivating green eyes and a pointed witch's hat, who is the teacher they address as Professor McGonagall, bellow your name.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Some students wrinkle their noses at the peculiarity of the name by which you are called, and they grow even more annoyed when you take your seat on the stool in an aloof but quick manner. The Sorting Hat feels heavy on your head, and you notice the way it moves and splits itself to pave way for its humongous mouth.

"Gryffindor!"

For what seems like the millionth time in your life, you are correct about your assumptions - rather, your knowledge. You happily bounce off to your table, and it fills you with satisfaction and happiness to see your House welcoming you with toasts and open arms. The moment you take your place in front of the long table, an odd silence lodges itself in the hall.

Professor McGonagall pauses before she calls the next student. She stiffens as she fixes her square-rimmed glasses, appearing to be perplexed by the next name.

Almost instantly, a boy with raven hair snatches the Sorting Hat and grumbles about how idiotic the whole school is. He doesn't wait for McGonagall's signal and forces the black hat unto his head, but the boy seems like he is like Professor McGonagall herself - the Hat refuses to spout words regarding his own House.

If you come off as a know-it-all to the rest of Hogwarts, you're sure this boy thinks of himself as a god when in all honesty he isn't. You find it horrifying and alluring, at the same time, to catch a glimpse of his eyes. They're blood red, and the fact that he is knitting his eyebrows together doesn't make him look like a good child.

In fact, he looks like he is about to kill.

You realize that you have been holding on to a fork with which you stab an enormous piece of roast chicken. Your seatmates laugh at you because there is no food on your plate - in your boredom you begin to imagine things that will most likely catapult you to the pit of shame. Food definitely belongs to the list of those things.

Clearing her throat, Professor McGonagall scrutinizes the parchment in her hands. "Hyuuga, Natsume!"

The boy with the crimson irises attracts the undivided attention of Hogwarts once more, and you silently complain about how he gets to be the center of the spotlight when he hasn't even done anything productive. He accidentally stares directly at you, and smirks when he registers the defeated expression on your face.

_Oh, the bastard._

The Sorting Hat wriggles on _Natsume Hyuuga's _head. It twists and turns and sighs in frustration. Finally, it says in a low voice, "This lad does not belong here. Not at all."

Your lips tug at the edges to form a satisfied smile. You hope that the raven-haired boy sees you and takes his wordless, arrogant declaration back.

However, a bearded man stands up from the teacher's table and pounds his hand three times on solid wood. It is not difficult to identify him as the greatest wizard of his time - you have perceived his face etched on rare Chocolate Frog cards and read all about him in the five-inch textbooks that you pored over for leisure purposes.

Albus Dumbledore smiles at the crowd of magical children and teenagers. "Oh, but he does. I assure you, I sent acceptance letters to all of the witches and wizards who deserve to enroll in the prestigious school that is Hogwarts."

It seems as if Hyuuga, the oh-so-impeccable boy that he thinks he is, has caught your scornful look a while ago, because he stares at you again and again and spits your crushed pride back at you. Dumbledore takes his seat and watches as the Sorting Hat continues to shake uneasily. It groans in its loathing of hatstalls, and murmurs a House name in defeat.

Natsume crosses his arms as he hears, "Slytherin!"

When he runs off to the students who are wearing green cloaks, you cannot mask the relief that he does not belong to the same House you are in. You cannot see his annoying face now, because his back is the one which is laid out for your eyes to feast on.

(You think that he is destined to do terrible things.)

(For the first time in your life, you are wrong.)

Another name is called. The Hall stays soundless except for murmurs here and there, and no one dares to overpower the voice of the Hat because the Boy Who Lived is about to determine a sliver of his fate. You've gleaned information about that certain boy through all of the legends that speak of his lightning scar. When Harry Potter is proclaimed to be a Gryffindor, the students at your table burst into rounds of applause, and still you sit meekly, your gaze unwavering from the new Slytherin boy with the raven hair.

That day, you learn that crimson is a wonderful color for eyes.

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**Constructive **criticism is very much welcome. And one more thing: _Ship it. _As of now I'm trying to build a fully-functional sailboat, and if you're willing to participate, we might just make the Unsinkable Ship.


	2. Chapter 2

**|author's note| **i refuse to give up on the caps game, thus the irritating small caps note. thanks to all those who read the first chapter - here's an update, and it's taking me really long to figure out what the hell i would do with this series.

**warning: **this chapter is crap. i'm serious.

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**the mudblood and her misconceptions**

_buttercupbella_

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**2. Mirror**

After Harry's near-accident during the Quidditch match, you begin to suspect Severus Snape, the man with greasy long hair and the professor whom you performed the "bluebell" spell on (you are guilty for setting fire to his robe but you're secretly happy because you managed to save your friend and burn Snape's clothes - odd as it is, you're quite sly yourself). During Potions class, he would look warily at Natsume and give him full marks without the boy stirring a single concoction. Much to your distaste, the both of them are Slytherins and you know that they are always up to no good.

You decide that it is more ideal to investigate about the raven-haired boy, because sneaking up on a teacher doesn't make sense and, at the same time, would be enough ground for you to be expelled from the school that you've always dreamed of attending.

Since you have been intent on unearthing mysteries, you compile the facts that have been obvious since Day One in a numbered list:

1. The Sorting Hat proclaims that Natsume Hyuuga does _not_ belong in Hogwarts.

2. Dumbledore certainly knows about Hyuuga's enigmatic background.

3. Professor Snape knows about it, too.

4. Most of the time, Hyuuga does not attend his classes.

5. Hyuuga does not have a wand.

The last item on your list bugs you the most, for how on Earth could a boy become a wizard without a trusty weapon? The only possibility is that Natsume Hyuuga has already learned about non-verbal spells, but the thought doesn't sit with you well - because witches and wizards _need_ wands.

_Maybe he's not a wizard._

With the brown parchment on your hand, you lift your sight just in time to catch Natsume stealthily turning to a hidden corner. Quietly, you follow his lead and slip into an unused classroom with junk and dust, and you nearly shriek when you realize that you have to hide behind a mountain of broken chairs if you want to spy on him for longer.

You see him standing in front of a tall mirror. It's dusty and reflects his perfect features all the same -

You bite your tongue for thinking about such an atrocious idea. Forget about it, Hermione Jean Granger. Your main objective is to find out why Natsume Hyuuga dully looks at the Mirror of Erised when, in fact, it shows him his desires, the ones which aren't guaranteed to become real and the ones that he's been longing for all of his life.

(Apparently, you have already memorized the textbooks way before the term started. Erised spelled backwards is desire, as the magical mirror reflects neither truth nor falsehood - it only shows the deepest desires of one's own heart. You also grasp the fact that a message is inscribed across the top of the frame - ___Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on_ wohsi.)_  
_

(___I show not your face but your heart's desire_.)

He knows this, you understand from then on. That's why he slides his hands into his pockets and turns to leave, and the sound of scurrying feet leaves you alone in the deserted classroom. It doesn't scare you to be in a dark location with nobody by your side, because you have just defeated a full-grown troll, along with the Potter-Weasley duo, after you cried in the girls' bathroom.

Because of Ronald Weasley's harsh words. Right.

It seems ridiculous to think that you became friends with the famous Harry Potter and his less-known sidekick Ron after an encounter with such an ugly beast. Of course, it is still difficult on your part to disregard Ron's (unnecessary) criticism, but you think that it is best to let the matter go.

You are a rational being, if you might say so yourself, but your curiosity wins over your logic and sends you in front of the mirror. Carefully you trudge to the Mirror of Erised, and scrutinize its bronze frame that casts a Victorian aura and the inscription that holds your attention. At first, you imagine that what will appear in the reflection will be a row of books, a world of harmony between Muggle-borns and wizards with magical ancestry, your front teeth in perfect size, and a woman with bushy hair in an Auror's clothes.

To say the least, it shocks you to see that neither of the things you have imagined stares back at you.

For a moment your gaze is transfixed on a seemingly ordinary mirror, your usually loud mouth unable to make a bare squeak. The image haunts you - not that you don't see it happening...rather, you don't know that you've desired for it more than anything else.

You dart out of the classroom, stumbling over steps leading to the Gryffindor common room and ignoring the piercing sneers of students and Filch's threatening look. Your cloak flows with wind, and for about three times you accidentally step on it and land smack on your face. It takes you a while to remember the Fat Lady's password because of all the nonsense clouding your mind.

_Silly little Granger_, Malfoy's gang must have spit at you back in the crowded allways. Crabbe and Goyle must have been chanting numerous offensive remarks in the background while the 'almighty' Malfoy himself (screw that) sashays over to your sprawled figure, flicks his blond hair, and calls you a mudblood. You couldn't care less; Slytherins are just a bunch of idiots with dangerous tricks up their sleeves and Professor Snape as their not-so-righteous mentor.

After all, like Salazar Slytherin, all of them are, in one way or another, going to contribute to the destruction of Hogwarts and the outside world.

_Except him._

You fluster at the thought once more before running straight into Harry, who curses under his breath and tries to steady you by placing his sculpted hands on your arms. The lightning scar on his forehead gleams under the glow of the chandelier in the common room. "Everything alright, Hermione?"

Nodding at Harry and his round-rimmed glasses, you say, "Yes," but you know that it's not quite true.

After all, it is _him_ that you saw wide-eyed in the Mirror of Erised, looking at you with those tantalizing crimson irises.

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**note **i included a harry x hermione moment right there because** i will go down with their ship** - it's much better than romione and comes in a close competition with dramione, to be honest. i never really liked canon after all. but of course, there's some natsumione here too.

also, check out the link on my profile if you wouldn't want to imagine emma watson side by side with natsume hyuuga in this story. believe me, it's ridiculous to imagine. 8)

oh, and flames are allowed.


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